


Convergence (Thommy IV)

by causeimdifferent



Series: Thommy [4]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1704821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/causeimdifferent/pseuds/causeimdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why Thomas and Jimmy exchange those glances while loading up the wagonette at the beginning of CS3 ...</p><p>Sequel to Looking (Thommy III)</p><p>"It's good that I am leaving, cause Jimmy, you see, ... if you act like you did I can't but hope. And it ... to be frank ... it kills me." Now don't look at me as if that's bloody big news to you.</p><p>"I didn't know", Jimmy said and it was plain obvious he meant it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Convergence (Thommy IV)

**I.**

After chasing Jimmy inconspicuously for the better part of the day, Thomas managed to get hold of him. Alone. At last. In the boot room. Lost in thought while polishing a shoe without paying much attention. Thomas leaned in the doorframe as casually as possible, his hammering heart betraying his outward nonchalance. To make sure they were on their own he glanced over his shoulder along the aisle before speaking.

"Can we talk for a second?"

Jimmy looked up with big, startled eyes, needing a moment to return from whatever realm he'd been exploring in his mind.

"What about?"

"Erm ... last night?"

"What's there to talk about?" came the snappy reply, Jimmy focussing a tad too ambitiously on polishing a part of the shoe that was spotless already.

Thomas could practically feel his features fall. _Alright, I get it._ _I did not dream it._ _It_ has _happened. But we are going to act as if it hadn't._ He attempted to swallow the sudden tightness in his throat.

" ... nothing ... it appears", he shrugged and turned to go.

" ... I told you, it doesn't mean anything, remember?" Jimmy hissed at his back.

 _Now wait a minute._ Slowly Thomas faced Jimmy again.

"Jimmy, you said standing close to one another doesn't mean anything", Thomas said in a low voice. "There is a difference between standing close to someone and embracing someone the way you did last night."

Jimmy glared at him: "Nothing has happened", he insisted, his face contorted with a mixture of rage and fear.

Thomas didn't even try to sound as if he didn't care: "You mean: let's _pretend_ nothing has." Sadness spread over him like a blanket. Now he could really leave Downton without any regrets. His primary intention was not anymore about wanting to spare Jimmy the inconvenience of his presence. But to spare himself the torture of having to look at what he could not have on a daily basis.

"Just for the record: It was you who approached me, Jimmy, not the other way round."

A hint of fear in the disguise of defiance crept across Jimmy's features. He looked away. _Discussion over._

"Alright then _:_ nothing has happened, nothing to talk about. Fine. _"_ Thomas cringed at the hurt in his voice. _"_ Oh, one other thing, though: keep to yourself what I told you about me leaving Downton. I mean it. I do not want anyone to know before I tell Carson."

"So you've made a final decision?" Jimmy asked, pushing the shoe away angrily. The color seemed to have left his face. Probably just an illusion due to a change of light coming through the window. A cloud obscuring the sun.

"I'll be going to London so seal the deal the day the familiy takes a leave for Scotland. I'll stay on at Downton until Carson has found a replacement. Which can take a month or just a week ..."

Jimmy got up abruptly, the chair screeching across the tiles. He started to clear away the brush and the wax. Clumsily. Looking lost. Jimmy with his guard down. The Jimmy that made Thomas's heart palpitate.

"Aren't you glad to get rid of me after all?" Thomas couldn't resist asking.

"What?" Jimmy asked, his face a blank.

Thomas shrugged. "Well, no more questions about the deeper meaning of passionate nightly embraces ..."

Jimmy stared at him, horrified: "It wasn't ... _passionate_."

Thomas attempted a smile: "It was nice, though. And even if it didn't mean anything and hasn't happened at all, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did."

 

**II.**

Just as the previous nights Thomas kept chasing sleep without success. So did Jimmy. More or less each night, sometime around 2 a.m., Thomas heard the floor planks creak and the click of Jimmy's door opening and closing. Each time Thomas considered for a second to follow him downstairs. Yearning for another embrace. To feel Jimmy's eager body press into him once more. Their bodies had molded so pleasantly into each other. Two fitting puzzle pieces connecting. A perfect fit, really. So why wasn't it supposed to be? After all the disappointment. Thomas was so starved for someone to love him back at last. Well, not just someone, just Jimmy, really. But then he reminded himself that whatever would happen didn't mean anything to Jimmy at all. And Thomas stayed in bed.

He refrained from offering Jimmy a sleep-inducing read as once requested. Even though he had taken a pick, to be prepared. An edition of "The Little Review" – or rather a chapter of "Ulysses" which had been published in it - should do the trick. But Jimmy didn't ask again. So Ulysses remained in Thomas's bookshelf. And Jimmy remained sleepless.

Their days, too, were as they had been: distanced, yet interspersed with sneaky glances that confused Thomas as much as ever. But at least he managed not to speculate about them anymore.

What he did indulge in though, as he lay awake at night, were contemplations upon his final farewell to Jimmy. Thomas did want to tell Jimmy that he loved him. He just wanted to say it once. And he wanted to wish him well. From the heart. There was nothing to lose. He'd never meet Jimmy again, in all likelihood. And Jimmy should not be too embarrassed, as he would never meet Thomas again, in all likelihood.

Never to see each other again. A horrible thought. _It's for the best_ , Thomas tried to chase it away, whenever it made an appearance. _You got over Philip as well, even though at the time you thought you'd never. You did. And you will again. And the quicker the farther you get away from Jimmy. Far from eye, far from heart._ Thomas didn't believe his affirmations one bit. He still tried.

Jimmy stuck doggedly to his nightly tea times all of the week before the family's departure to Scotland. The week before Thomas's interview. The week before Thomas would pass the point of no return. Jimmy went downstairs every single night. Most of the times for the better part of an hour.

 

**III.**

_The next day would be the day._ Thomas could not close an eye. Impossible.

He'd supervise the departure of the family to the station and directly after he'd leave for London. Officially to run under-butler errands for Carson about silverware orders and other tidbits. Inofficially he'd make an appearance at the Cavendishs to seal the deal. The prospect should make him giddy with anticipation: He'd be butler at last. And the Cavendishs were truly decent employers, as he knew from his own experience as well as testimonials of acquainted servants. No more Carson. No more O'Brien. Away from the backwards country life. Hidden in the midst of the anonymity of the city, opportunities galore to meet men. Thomas would have a chance at a half way decent sex life. A small consolation for a broken heart, yes, but way more than what he would ever have at Downton. And still Thomas felt sick with dread. Even though it didn't make any sense, something felt oddly off. As if he was about to make a phenomenal mistake.

At 1.45 sharp a floorboard creaked. _Go_ , shot through Thomas's wrought up brain, _talk to him now. It's my last chance to find out if there is a chance after all._ _After I have signed the contract it is too late._ He didn't contemplate if his thoughts made any sense and whipped on his dressing gown.

 

"You got enough left for another cup?"

Jimmy was leaning against the counter beside the stove, staring into his cup in hand. As he looked up there was neither reproach nor surprise on his face. But something else: Relief.  
"Mr. Barrow ..." he said drowsily "... I thought you'd never come ... I always boiled enough water for two."

 _Either he has lost his mind or I must be hallucinating_ , Thomas decided. "What?"

Jimmy ignored him and put his cup down on the counter to busy himself with fetching another one for Thomas.

Thomas was at a blank.

Jimmy started to prepare the second cup of tea. "I've ... I've thought about it a lot, Mr. Barrow ... . I like you, I do and I ... well, I ... it was really nice to ... it's just that ..." he fumbled uselessly about with the tea tin and the spoon. "You see ... I just don't want by any means for anyone to think that I am ..."

"... like me", Thomas helped out.

Jimmy nodded. "Because I'm not."

"It's good that I am leaving, cause Jimmy, you see, ... if you act like you did I can't but hope. And it ... to be frank ... it kills me." _Now don't look at me as if that's bloody big news to you._

"I didn't know", Jimmy said and it was plain obvious he meant it.

"But I ... I told you I care about you, Jimmy", Thomas blurted out.

"Yes, but, I mean, I thought it was about you wanting to do, well, you know – things."

Thomas stifled an exasperated laugh: " It was never just about doing _things_. I mean, of course I want that, too, but it is not, it's not just that ..." He took a deep breath. _Now. Say it._  
"I ... um ..." The words got stuck in his throat.

Jimmy eyed him with suspicious curiosity.

"I ..." Thomas tried again. When he finally managed to say what he had been aching to say, his voice almost failed him: "I love you, Jimmy Kent, you bloody idiot."

Not ready in the slightest to see Jimmy squirm at his emotional display, Thomas bolted. And to avoid an awkward reply that came from obligation and not from the heart.

 

"Wait!"

Thomas slowed down, halfway up the second staircase, listening to the steps approaching quickly. Only when they stopped right behind him, did he turn round to face Jimmy in the flickering light of their candles.

"Tomorrow is your interview?" Jimmy's hushed voice seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the staircase.

"Yes", Thomas replied.

Jimmy nodded, downcast.

"It's your last chance to tell me you'd rather want me to stay", Thomas even managed to make it sound like a joke. Locking eyes with Jimmy as they stood face to face. Both of them wanting, but not daring, waiting, hoping for the other one to make a move. It was oh, so tempting to fall into the same trap again. Jimmy's closeness waking an arousal in Thomas that was all too well designed to render him defenseless. Reluctantly he proceeded to walk upstairs.

"Hold on", Jimmy grabbed the sleeve of Thomas's dressing gown.

"What, Jimmy", Thomas hissed, exasperated.

"You mean, you'd stay if I asked you to?"

_Oh God, Jimmy._

"Well, not quite ... I'd stay if ... " Thomas choked up.

"... if I ... loved you back?"

_Oh, please._

Jimmy held his gaze with unusual sincerity. Suddenly, as if on impulse he grabbed the candle from Thomas' hand and blew it out. And then his own.

Darkness embraced them. Except for a soft mist of moonlight seeping in from the windows a little above.

 

Thomas heard the metal of the candleholders clink against the stone, as Jimmy put them on the floor. The rustle of fabric, as he straightened up again. He heard his own gasp ricochet from the walls of the staircase unnaturally loud. As Jimmy's fingers were feeling for the knot that held together the belt of Thomas's dressing gown. Loosening it.

The mere sensation of Jimmy's fingertips touching his stomach just below his belly button sent a pulling sensation through Thomas's groin. The ends of the belt fell dangling against his thighs.

Hands. Jimmy's hands. Parting the dressing gown, traveling along Thomas's sides, downwards and under his pajama jacket. Bare skin on skin. Jimmy's palms, warm and a bit damp. Timid yet wanting. With a moan Thomas slumped back against the cool wall behind him.

Fingertips. Combing along the trail of hair connecting Thomas's navel and his crotch. Down, further down. Slowly. Coming to a halt just above the waistband of his pants. "Ooh." Another irrepressible moan reverberated through the staircase. Thomas's prick was throbbing and beginning to rise against the fabric of his pajama pants. Jimmy's fitful breath wafted hotly against his neck.

Fingertips moving up again. And down again. This time past the waistband of Thomas's pants. To brush – as if by accident - along his half-erect cock. Thomas gasped, pushing forward by reflex.

Jimmy withdrew with a start.

Silence. Except for their rasping breaths.

Thomas steadied himself against the cool wall, his legs wobbly. His hand ventured into the darkness to meet Jimmy's arm. Sliding upwards along his shoulder to feel the soft skin of his neck. _Oh God. I want to kiss you, Jimmy. So bad._

In slow motion Thomas moved towards Jimmy's face. Expecting him to put an end to all of this at any moment. When he felt Jimmy's breath on his skin he stopped - an inch or so in front of Jimmy's mouth. _It's your call._ Thomas stood still. Longing. Aching.  
  
Lips. Soft and warm like small cushions. Meeting Thomas's lips. Which were slightly parted to receive a first sweet taste of Jimmy Kent. They just stood and kissed. Not touching anywhere else, just their mouths connecting, their tongues exploring each other. Timidly. Cautiously. Brimming with controlled desire. Finally Thomas's hands settled down on Jimmy's waist. Lightly, fearing that too much contact would scare Jimmy away. The heat of Jimmy's body, the taut muscles underneath his skin, his excited breath pulsing into Thomas's palms. 

Thomas tried to hold back. To refrain from being too eager. To draw Jimmy against him ever so slowly instead. Shaking with the effort of constraint. But then, suddenly, it was Jimmy's arms that grabbed him, reached around him, eagerly, to press into Thomas with unexpected force. His hardness meeting Thomas's erection. Jimmy struggled. And Thomas jumped back as if he had burned his fingers."Sorry!", he blurted out, even though he hadn't done anything that justified an apology.

But Jimmy was already running up the stairs, leaving Thomas in the dark. Trembling. With desire. Need. Fear. Hope.

Thomas could not tell any better than before what all of this meant to Jimmy Kent. And he would not ask him about it again.

But one thing Thomas knew for sure: To him all of this meant more than anyhing. As futile and painful as it might be.

There was no way he would leave Downton now. No way in hell.


End file.
